Ghost
by Limitless Musings
Summary: Her façade of happy memories and joyous optimism were no match for his all-seeing eyes. He always saw right through her.
Disclaimer: I don't own jack!

 _Summary:_ Her façade of happy memories and joyous optimism were no match for his all-seeing eyes. He always saw right through her.

 _Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime_

 _ **Ghost**_

 **Chapter One** : Treacherous Heart

It started out of instinctual desperation. She'd sneak into the kitchen every night, her ears straining against the quiet for any sounds of impending danger. Then with trembling hands she'd grab whatever items she could, mix them all together, and scarf it down with no sense of self-control or manners. It was horrid but it was necessary. On nights like these the only thing overwhelming her sense of disgust was the painful spasm of her stomach crying out for food. Anything was better than nothing by that point.

Ketchup, red bean paste, wasabi. It didn't matter—as long as she could ease the pain of her hunger. Bruises littered her tiny body, the weakness from not being permitted to eat properly caused her to shake but there was always a spark of rebellion in her eyes. Despite the circumstances she wasn't going to kneel over. At the time she didn't fully understand what she was feeling or why—just that she didn't want them to 'win'.

The day she turned six her brother came back into her life. She had heard her mother hiss about his 'betrayal' and her father mutter his name as if it were a curse. She hadn't understood why until she saw him in person. Unlike their parents, a gentleness emanated from him. Though just as that gentleness washed over her another emotion overtook his face—anger. He and their parents fought bitterly until the flare of police lights lit up the night and the stark white walls of their home. At the end of it all, her father was being placed in the back of a police cruiser with blood pouring from his nose, her mother was screeching in wordless rants, and her brother had taken her hand—leading her out of her personal hell.

The first few months of living with Sora had been a wholly new experience for her. Each time he reached down to pat her head she'd flinch and throw her arms up to protect herself. If he was hurt by her reaction, he never showed it. Instead her brother showered her with patience and affection, gently showing her a world full of kindness and hope. She still remembered the day he opened the door to her room, silver eyes widening, at the sight that lay before her. It was of moderate size but decorated completely with all the things she loved—bright colors, insects that with patterns that would even make a rainbow envious, but most of all, was a modest bed at the center. Her eyes had watered and before she realized it, she was crying.

In all of her time on this planet she had never known the softness of laying in such an object. It had always been a blanket on the floor in the living room or the rock hard cushion of the couch. Never an actual bed. It wasn't the lack of funds either as there was a never ending supply of cash to support the alcohol addiction her father had, but the absolute need her birth parents had to remind her of her status in the world. She wasn't a human to them. She had only been a burden. Now, she knew, she was no longer that burden. She had been given permission to be something more than the ghost quietly slipping down hallways and hiding in broom closets.

Sora didn't say a word. Instead he brought her into the protection of his arms and allowed her to cry her sorrow. Even if he'd never say the words out loud, she could see the pain and suffering in his eyes too. He knew this pain as well. In that moment, she knew that she was home.

They spent six years like that. They never spoke of their parents. They hadn't needed to. The pain still existed but it was just a mild ache at the center of her chest compared to the cataclysmic spasms that overtook her at the mere thought of them before.

Then it happened. On the day she turned twelve, he had presented her with a pair of hairclips. They were nothing particularly noteworthy but the gesture warmed her heart nonetheless. As Sora walked out the door that morning she offered him the biggest hug her little arms could muster and thanked him profusely. His expression, which had always been gentle save for that one moment he plucked her from despair, softened. She swore to herself that she'd show him how grateful she was by cooking the best meal of his life that night. However that was never to be. He didn't come home that night. Or the night after or the one following that. Instead, she received a visit from an aging detective. He was close to retirement, she could tell merely from the exhausted look in his eyes. The man was tall and his face was somber. Dread had filled her fragile heart that had only recently began to feel again.

"I'm sorry Inoue-san, but your brother is dead." Those words shattered the dream-like state she had been living in. Her brother was gone. He wasn't going to return. Her parents were gone and she didn't even want them to come back. So where did that leave her? She was now alone in this world full of monsters and fleeting hope. That night after the Detective left she made her way into the kitchen. It was well stocked with ingredients she was both familiar with and many others that she was not. Sora had made it is personal mission to teach her the ways of cooking—often encouraging her to watch shows that would educate her on the different ways to prepare a meal.

Instead of the usual spices and condiments, her hand instinctually reached out and grabbed random containers and a heel of bread. Mustard, wasabi, chocolate syrup and soy sauce were sloppily doused on the starchy product before she greedily consumed the odd concoction. One bite after another her stomach began to protest but she did not yield. Silver eyes hardened with the familiar glint of rebellion. Tears coursed silently down her face without her knowledge. It didn't matter how this would affect her later. All that matter now was getting some modicum of control back in her life, and this was it.

For hours she remained in the kitchen. Her legs had long since given out and all that was left behind was the mess of her 'habit'. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the tears that still coursed down her face. It was of no use. No matter what they wouldn't stop flowing. Her heart clenched in her chest. All the sorrow that Sora's mere presence had banished from her soul returned in full force. For days she wandered through their tiny, darkened apartment. Her eyes would flick around the room seeking for any sign of life that she may have missed. Her brother's brown trench coat was still hanging from its place by the doorway. His slippers were resting neatly at the base of their entryway. But he never came home. His shoes never magically appeared like she wished they would. The lights wouldn't suddenly flood the home with its warmth and welcome at his arrival. There was nothing but the cold, damp air the likes of which only death could leave behind.

Envelopes piled by the doorway. Several stamped 'past due' while other seemed harmless enough. She would pause and glance over at them. A new month was drawing near. She had no money. She had no reliable family. Soon, she would have no home. It was that realization that kicked her into a state of panic. Her hands trembled as she ripped the envelopes open. The numbers on the page made her heart stop before her eyes drifted to the wallet left lying neatly upon the kitchen countertop. The detective had returned it to her the night he visited, still it did not make her feel any better.

With a dry throat, she slowly approached the object. Auburn hair swayed brightly in the darkly lit apartment as her fingers brushed over the plastic card. She swallowed. This was the only way. She felt like a thief. To stave off the guilt of being forced to use her deceased brother's left over savings, she spent only on bills and a minute amount of food. She bought only what she needed to. For three months she spent her life like this. Constantly drowning in the despair that was her pitiful existence—reduced to a mere parasite of what she once was. Her bed remained unused for the duration of this period. She didn't deserve it.

The fourth month she ran out of money. Out of desperation she turned to the only people she could think of—Tatsuki's parents. They listened with compassion and offered her the most sincere of sympathies. They had surrounded her with their warmth and swiftly moved to save the child from losing her home. With all the bills paid they did something that surprised her completely—they contacted her relatives. Not her mother who would rather screech at her, nor her father who had gone missing the day he was released from prison. But an aunt an uncle she had never seen nor heard of until they arrived on her doorstep.

By all means they appeared to be unassuming people. Their faces were like any others. The wife bore an uncanny resemblance to her mother. She had her same auburn hair and piercing violet eyes. Though something was off. The woman's mouth was drawn into a pencil-like line. Her brows furrowed into a deep crevice as distaste overtook her expression.

"Are we to take her in?" The voice was harsh, much like the hiss of a viper.

"Would that really be such a bother?" Her husband quipped. He was nothing like his wife. There was an air of nonchalance that radiated off of him but there was also a cool, knife-like pierce to his gaze as well. These people were not like the gentle Sora nor were they the uncontrollable beasts that were her parents. These people were an entirely different breed of monster. One that she was ill equipped to handle.

"She will remain here. I will not allow her into our home. She is nothing more than the byproduct of something vile." The hiss returned as those violet eyes pinned her with a dark stare. "You represent only the worst of this family. I won't have you marring the Inoue name any more than your predecessors already have." The girl briefly wondered what it was that she was supposed to symbolize. Tragedy? Despair? Or perhaps it was something she couldn't put a name? She didn't know and she no longer cared. She wanted nothing more to do with these creatures. They weren't human. None of them were.

Her bills were paid continuously after that. She no longer had to suffer the fear of losing her home. Instead, she traded that insecurity for a leash around her neck. There were strict rules that had to be abided by. She was to attend school and receive only the top grades. There would be no after school activities. She could only have one friend at a time at the apartment without her aunt's express permission. Most of all, there would be no men to enter her home under any circumstances. It didn't matter whether they were friend or otherwise. Failure to uphold these rules would result in the immediate loss of their financial support. So she plastered a fake smile on her face and turned her back to the reality of her situation. It wasn't that she was unaware of how painful it was becoming. No that wasn't it at all, but rather she simply didn't have the strength to deal with it.

After so many months of fretting and crying, she was spent. The reigns loosened after only a year of upholding her end of the bargain. At the age of thirteen, she was granted the privilege of being able to come and go as she pleased. No longer was she required to spend thirty minutes on the phone discussing the events of her day and how she would do better the next. No longer did she need to inform some phantom third party that was never present in her home of her intended actions and movements. Instead all calls dropped to a minimal once a month and her aunt nearly disappeared entirely from her life. Her uncle never spoke nor saw her again after the day they had come to her tiny home.

By age fourteen, the calls ceased entirely.

In between the brief span between her fourteenth and fifteenth birthday she met Kurosaki Ichigo. A man so full of life and fire that it made her remember what it was like to live and not simply exist. His presence reminded her of the kindness Sora had shown her. His warmth showed her that there was more to this world than empty apartments and a glasses filled with regret.

Slowly but surely, her smile began to hold some glimmer of truth to it. The outside world would never know of her past. It'd never understand the pain and heartache she'd carry with her everyday. The only thing she could possibly hope for would be that she could remain close enough to Ichigo Kurosaki to maintain that small ray of hope. It didn't matter to her that he'd never see her as anything other than a friend. She only wanted to stay by his side—even if it was for purely selfish reasons.

By the time she was sixteen she learned about love, jealousy and, most of all, acceptance. She accepted Ichigo's determination to stay by Rukia's side, embraced it even. Rukia embodied everything she was not. The shinigami was life where she, Inoue Orihime, was just a mere shell—an afterthought of life trying to shine again amongst the night blackened sky.

All pretenses she had held of maintaining a happy persona in the face of danger quickly fell away on a single, fateful day where her path crossed another's. He was a hollow, an arrancar to be exact. His piercing gaze stared right on through her and into the shell that was her soul. _Trash_. That was the word he had used. Worthless and undeniably weak, she could only watch as death drew upon her. It was only due to Ichigo's interference that she had not been killed. It left her both elated and distraught. Two such utterly conflicting emotions collided heavily in her weakened heart. She questioned herself over and over again, wondering if she would ever be of use.

Still she persevered and attempted to train. Rukia had tried her hardest and supported her to the best of her abilities. In the dark haired shinigami, she felt she had a true friend. Then that shattered as well. _He_ appeared before her once more—showing her what exactly would happen to the fragile lives of her so called 'friends' should she not follow him into the unknown abyss that was Hueco Mundo. She had contemplated her choices though none of which were appealing to her. Fight and die a meaningless death, or put blind faith in her enemy in that he would not attack her once they breached the threshold of the Hollow World. Her options were limited.

The cool touch of his pale skin had jolted her. It was callous to the touch, but more than that it was hard like stone. She wondered if statues could move if they'd feel like he did. In the palm of her hand was a silver bracelet. The directions given were to put it on and not be seen. Say goodbye to one person alone and then regroup at a rendezvous point. She accepted the task by slipping the cool metal over her wrist like a shackle; willfully binding herself to this arrancar.

If chaining herself to a monster would save the lives of the few precious friends she had, then she'd do it. She wouldn't hesitate. Not even for a second. Even if they would think she betrayed them; she'd welcome their scornful stares. If only to keep the light in their eyes and their souls burning bright. The rest of the evening went by in a blur. She had debated between parting a farewell to Tatsuki before her treacherous heart whispered Ichigo's name. So she had gone to him, confessed her true feelings, ones that up until that point she had believed long lost, and then left.

Now she stood upon the threshold between the night and the abyss. A pale hand outstretched towards her.

"Come with me, Inoue Orihime." His voice stated smoothly, as if he expected her.

She glanced down at her own hand. The shinigami's reiatsu still lingered from where her fingers intertwined with his palm. She felt the brief urge to hold it close to her chest; to store away those feelings deep within the confines her heart but she stilled that desire. Silver eyes settled upon the ghostly pale figure before her. She silently slipped her palm over his, giving him her answer. His fingers curled over the side of her hand ever so slightly. Like before, the touch was cold and hard like stone. Only this time she could see his eyes piercing the ever-shifting shadows of the garganta, searching for danger. He wouldn't acknowledge her other than the lax grip he hand over her hand. This was to be her life now. This was her sacrifice and all for the sake of a heart she once believed incapable of feeling. A wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips. How utterly ironic.


End file.
